#I love him because he’s pathetic but he cares so much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sceletaflores · 2 days

Note

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up.

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, malpractice? unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

authors note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you.

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone.

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you.

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you.

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.”

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller.

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey.

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands.

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure, "Just try to relax.”

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter.

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything.

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings."

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done.

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up.

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you.

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back.

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house.

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things.

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her.

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.”

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience.

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to.

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing.

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold.

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment. The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want some random massage therapist.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk about that door right now and never step foot in their house again.

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything.

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now.

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him.

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over.

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly.

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue.

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.”

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest.

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist.

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from.

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,” he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room.

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying.

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it.

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you.

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you.

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself.

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you. Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets.

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him.

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit.

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter.

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining.

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” you whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips.

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan.

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks.

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes

726 notes · View notes

knbposting · 2 days

Text

reposting a meta i did under someone else's post bc people have been asking me to psychoanalyse aomine or kagami and i think nobody saw this one :( anyway @cemetery14 's original post is here!

jumping on for a second to talk about this bc it's so important to me. i'm not trying to mansplain aomine daiki here but his attitude is one of my fav parts of knb so pls excuse me if i say something obvious HSDHSDJH

just as a preface, i spoke about aomine's sense of security in the people he loves HERE, in the context of my aokaga fics. it's mostly hc because it talks about his parents whom we don't get to see in canon, but i'm fairly confident in this analysis to discuss this angle without referencing to that. i founded the parent hcs on how he acts with momoi.

SO. let's discuss aomine's relationships first and foremost. in the series, aomine refers to THREE people by their first names, and he does it exclusively when he feels comfortable and/or friendly with someone enough that they've earnt it. unlike with some of the other characters, he doesn't do it to get a rise out of anyone by assuming familiarity, and he doesn't do it to make fun.

he calls kuroko tetsu when kuroko proves that not only does he love basketball as much as he does, but that he's a good person and someone aomine feels he can trust. even when they fall out, even when aomine believes that kuroko must hate him, and he wants to hate kuroko for his naive view of basketball, he still calls him tetsu. he doesn't waver at all, not around other people, or shouting his name at the top of his lungs from the back of an arena. kuroko is tetsu. it's a badge of honour.

momoi is his childhood best friend and someone he does not believe will ever leave. she is, and has been for over ten years by the time the show starts, satsuki. in my view, he treats momoi as one would a sister, almost, because he treats her honestly pretty badly with no expectation that she's taking him seriously. he's surprised when he makes her cry (like in the rain when she's suggesting he pull out of a competition due to injury), because yeah he's calling her ugly and telling her to fuck off and all of that, but there's an unbreakable bond underlying his meanness that aomine trusts won't break. he shouldn't treat his friends like this, but i'm just trying to come at this from his perspective. he expresses his love for her quietly, but it's there.

as i said in my linked hc post, aomine does not believe that he has to do anything special in order to earn the love of those he trusts. he does not believe that their love is conditional, he does not think that it's linked to his skill or status as a prodigy. for better or for worse, he feels known by these people, and therefore, he's immature about responsibilities and regularly acts up around the people he loves. he ditches people, he shirks chores, and he genuinely does not care about annoying or bothering people.

and now we come to sakurai. aomine and sakurai have a faaascinating dynamic. they're classmates as well as teammates, but i'd love to know how they started talking. neither of them have the kind of personality to just sit next to the other bc they're in basketball club together. sakurai appears skittish, insecure, wet, pathetic, we love you sakurai but you have a reputation. and it's bullshit. sakurai's "drawback", what makes him look weak in the eyes of those around him, is in his need to please others. he takes it bitterly personally when he does something wrong, or he believes he does something wrong, quickly reducing to tears and the classic "i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i don't want to live! i deserve to die!" spiel he usually descends to. but in clutch mode, in his favourite sport, sakurai can be just as arrogant as the rest of touou. he has the confidence to make threes against strong opponents instead of just passing to the prodigal ace. he wants to score points. he isn't interested in proving himself to anyone, he already knows that he's great.

sakurai's actual personality, rather than his perceived one, is probably what draws aomine to him. i can very easily imagine that they're in a game early on, and sakurai looks like he's about to get into trouble with the opposing team who are picking on him a little. but instead of crumbling, he gives them the most disgraceful look of disrespect, and scores an amazing three. it's a moment like that which would make aomine interested, and as he pays more attention, he'd notice other things he also would like. sakurai is kind, he loves basketball, and he is not afraid of aomine. he's not afraid of his skill, however much he is impressed by it, and he doesn't see aomine is someone to prove himself to or compete with. sakurai honestly doesn't seem like he thinks about aomine much at all. which aomine would like. he's also a great cook. again, my idea is that they were eating together, and aomine is looming because he kinda wants to make friends but isn't quite sure yet, and sakurai offers him a little food. you know, like the neighbourhood cat? anyway. once he's had some, he wants to have more, and so, a friendship occurs.

sakurai's food making is one of his more beloved traits in his team, and everyone is comfortable enough with him to snatch and steal etc. like wakamatsu eating all the fucking lemons so aomine wouldn't get any. my fav team. stupid idiots. there are instances were sakurai expresses that he wishes they wouldn't (like the cursed replace novel where aomine eats all sakurai's food he made for the team during a study session to do aomine's homework, without him knowing, and when he discovers an empty fridge, he starts crying and has to be comforted), but overall his protestations are, in my opinion, coming from modesty rather than actual discomfort. sakurai is a strong enough person not to have people walk all over him, he simply doesn't mind being useful to a team he has grown to love and respect.

sakurai is the third person aomine refers to by his first name. sakurai earns this in his basketball skill, he earns it in how he stares fearlessly and disgracefully at nonbelieving opponents. the food definitely helps, but aomine wouldn't have just stolen a stranger's food. he doesn't view sakurai as weak. he doesn't bully him. wakamatsu may think that aomine is bullying him or taking advantage of him, but aomine isn't like that. he doesn't take advantage of the weak, he protects them. like the lady's bag getting snatched. like fighting haizaki when he knew his friends couldn't (not that he thinks they're weak, it's just that their hands were tied). i don't think i've seen him ever take advantage of anyone like that. he certainly takes advantage of friendships as i've mentioned above, but it feels different to me. idk maybe i'm just an aomine excuser at this point. it'll happen again.

for someone who doesn't sincerely smile much, btw, look at how he is in that scene with sakurai:

sakurai: but... this is... aomine: huh? sakurai: sorry, go ahead!

i think this dialogue is less aomine bullying his way into sakurai's bento, and more sakurai realising that the neighbourhood cat is getting more comfortable with him. would he have told him to get lost? probably not. but he doesn't move away when aomine's near, and he isn't flinching or worried about anything bad happening. if anything, his eyes closing when aomine's draped all over him shows, to me, that he's sort of accepting his fate, bc he knows aomine's not gonna do anything but take the good bits of his bento (not a bully. wakamatsu. please calm down). in fact, look at aomine's reaction when wakamatsu tries defending sakurai, whom he believes is getting kinda bullied here:

first, he checks on sakurai. look, he's fine. sakurai cries at everything, he's calm here. he hasn't overstepped any boundaries. but to me, aomine's first words being a reply to wakamatsu's claims that he should be at practise, and not about stealing food, suggests that aomine hasn't actually considered that he could be doing anything wrong enough to rile wakamatsu up this much. it has gotta be about coming to practise. he stops eating sakurai's bento and tries to leave. i think he'd probably be embarrassed by the idea that he could bully anyone. mean as he is, selfish as he is, aomine's good at heart. he'd definitely think his whole team was stupid as fuck if they believed that aomine would bully sakurai, or degrade him in any way. aomine's just showing that he's comfortable with him in the only way he tends to: by being a little shit.

phew! aomine brain dump out of the way. let's discuss haizaki more briefly because haizaki is a lot of fun, but he's not as fun to talk about as aomine.

i think it's a super interesting, deliberate choice to introduce aomine as a nuisance and then haizaki as a nuisance in a similar setting. aomine's food stealing, to me, looks like it's founded on habit and friendship. he doesn't view sakurai as weak and pathetic, and i think already by that point is calling him ryou, so they're solid friends. aomine is a definite loner and doesn't seem to want friends, but ryou is one of them. one of three, as i mentioned, whom he refers to by first name.

haizaki's entrance in the food hall is different because he doesn't have that base level of friendship with kuroko at all. from memory, he calls people by their first names and it makes them uncomfortable. that's likely why he does it. he is big on disrupting the balance of things. i know he hates the generation of miracles, i know he hates team play and friendship dynamics (likely because he finds it difficult to relate to people like that, and to forgive when someone does something that he finds annoying or weak). haizaki does prey on the weak. he's a menace to women walking around at night, he's a menace to kise in their match (his views on kise are super interesting but i don't wanna get into them now, but he does view kise as weak). and he definitely thinks kuroko's weak. it's no surprise that he targets kuroko's plate (this is all from memory so i'm hoping i'm right lmao).

haizaki's food stealing is a power play. look at what i can do, i can take what i want. you can't do shit about it. when called out for it, he says this:

(mido said fuck YOUUUUU aomine) now, i don't think this is actually haizaki believing that aomine is doing it for the same reasons he is. i don't think haizaki gives a shit, and he just sees aomine making a fuss and wants to cause trouble. (side note: aomine's i only take when i'm hungry is so funny. he's saying i'm DYING before i steal from my friends!!! that's so stupid. he's such a pain. but he's never going to say "i only steal from my best friends" because that is crazy talk, this is still aomine, whether he's 12 or whatever.)

murasakibara complains, drawing himself into haizaki's zone of interest, and then haizaki shows he doesn't give a fuck by talking only of the food. i am SURE there are translation issues to be taken into consideration, but haizaki's word choice at face value is: a) your fried chicken looks good too, b) that's mine now. essentially: the fuck are you gonna do about it? he likely doesn't view mura as weak, i think here he's just willing to fight for it. mura plays defence and haizaki loses interest.

haizaki seeks to remind them that he isn't emotionally invested in any of this shit, he just takes what he wants to because he can. it's a power play, and everyone knows it.

the fact that it's aomine putting up a fight about not stealing food is telling to how different they are. it doesn't matter that aomine thinks he only steals when he's hungry so it's alright, if he even does view it like that at all (aomine has a history of talking shit and lying sooo). aomine sets them apart by making it clear that he doesn't have any ulterior motives. haizaki is very quick to announce that he does. he isn't doing it because he has to, he's stealing and being a general menace because he wants to. and he tends to target either those he views as weak, or those he knows will fight him.

i wonder why he didn't take from akashi? i wonder whether it's a testament to nijimura's fighting skills or that haizaki didn't fight back when nijimura beat him up?

anyway. i'm so sorry i wrote an essay on your post. i love this topic obviously and i'm critically insane.

#aomine daiki #aomine #haizaki shougo #haizaki #knb #kuroko's basketball #meta #hcs #HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII i hope i didnt come off as needy when i said no one saw it IHDSJDHS i meant that i posted it at #shit o'clock and felt too embarrassed to rb it to show anyone againg djshdsjhdjh #long post #i love characters who are mean because they usually have reasons for it #i actually like haizaki too i think he's fun #but i wouldnt go into his tag. do you get it #like full respect to you if you find this in the haizaki tag but im not brave enough #i dont WANT to know the fandom opinion of him #i could not face the reader x fics either i think JSDHJHSDJ

23 notes · View notes

trashlie · 11 months

Text

ILY FP 232

Better known as: trashlie is STILL climbing the wallls and TAKING YOU WITH HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Look idk what I can get away saying in these intros without being spoilery anymore because by the time I sit down to write this I’m just VIBRATING AWAY on pure energy. You know when you feel words at your fingertips but you are too consumed by other menial tasks you’ve no interest in doing so you gotta bide your time and it just grows and grows and grows until it bursts out of you howling?

Yeh.......

Let’s jump right in!!!!!!!!!!

I’m gonna be real with you guys - it’s gonna take a LOT for me to not to do rambling long repeats of things I said last week. I’m gonna do my best but... 232 is very much a continuation of 231 so it is what it is!

Leading up to the episode my friends and I were talking and the general consensus was we hoped Shinae would try knocking down Nol’s door but alkjjjkafjkafkj DIDN’T EXPECT SHE WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO TRY TO BULLDOZE THE DOOR ON HER OWN AND START SHOUTING AT HIM THROUGH THE DOOR LMAO but listen Shinae so very PERSISTENT!!!!! She’s so over being thrown out, SO over being shut out, and it’s all right there in front of her but she just CANNOT see it for what it is, cannot understand what is compelling her besides that she cares.

And boy does she care.

Her frustration is, as I said last week, completely justified, of course, but in this case, they’re both justified and that really does her no favors, does it? Yelling and banging on his door, trying any tactic she can to get him to open up, to rethink his decision to cast her out. He has basically told her “come back when you figure it out” but she doesn’t know what “it” is or what else could be there, so she can only feel like he’s shutting her out once again, refusing to open up to her after just reconciling.

At the core of Shinae’s frustration and persistence is fear. She’s so afraid of losing him again, terrified of yet another important person letting go and turning their back to her.

And as much as I feel for Shinae, I also can’t help but feel for Nol who is on the other side of the door, unable to make himself walk away from it, arms pinned at his side against the door as though he doesn’t trust them to not reach for the door handle, doesn’t trust himself to maintain the boundary. He’s kicked her out - but barely. He can’t leave the side of that door while Shinae stands right outside of it, banging away. GOD I enjoy the agony of it, I NEED MORE. Shinae’s threats are so comical but she’s literally grasping at straws and he knows it. The same Nol who broke that day in the rain is barely holding it together, knowing that once again he is causing her pain.

As readers we know that once she figures it out, she’ll understand. As soon as Shinae understands what Nol is trying to get her to see, she’ll know exactly why he had to draw that boundary and keep the space, but in this moment she doesn’t know any of this, and it is just so agonizing!

Just as she’s been confessing all day long, she continues to tell him all the things she can’t see for what they are - how much she hates when he shuts her out, how she can’t understand why they’re back here when they just go out of this and GOD i love it because you can FEEL how much she cares. Even if she doesn’t know what the feeling is, even if she can’t call it what it is, she cares so much! And you can see how much it hurts him! How difficult it is to stand there and let her think he’s casting her to the streets again, to have her fight so passionately for him for them when he understands now what kind of hurt he’s inflicted (and continues to inflict!!!!!!!) GOD

Nol understands so well his resistance - his resolve - and knows he has to keep that physical barrier between them. Even before he could barely look at her when he did, when she flustered under his gaze and command, he threw her out before he could crumble all the way and there’s something about seeing it illustrated this way, showing us rather than telling, how hard this is for him. I’m sure his thought is that once Shinae figures it out - once she knows her feelings, once she can understand his feelings, once she can see what Dieter saw that hurt him so much, she’ll be the one to draw the boundary he struggles so hard with. That once he’s not the only one who knows, she can stop pushing him, can stop breaking him down, can act on the effort he can barely muster.

I love that panel of Shinae banging on the door while he stands on the other side, face screwed up in frustration and agony. It’s so difficult, it’s SO HARD. She’s going on about being shut out, about how “ a misunderstanding” has come between them. She’s so scared their relationship doesn’t mean to him what it means to her, so scared that he’s content to throw it all away, so scared that she will lose him once and for all - and he has to stand and bear it, knowing he’s causing her to feel these things, knowing there’s no easy way out.

UUUUUUUUUUGGGHHH SCREAMS

It’s the sheer irony! That the thing he wants her to comprehend is the VERY THING she’s yelling at him about, it’s the very thing compelling her.

Well. That and her sleep deprivation LMAO

I never shut up about noticing when characters have their eyes closed, but it’s such an important part of quimchee’s subtle storytelling. Note how Nol’s face is still screwed up in frustration when he tells her to go away, followed by telling her she’s so damn annoying.

I’ve already seen that there are people reading that at face value but over here round these parts, we know better. Nol’s eyes closed as he tells her to go away, while he stands with his door still pressed against the door.

He so easily could have walked away, gone back to his bed across the room. Instead he stands there, torturing himself as he listens to her yell at him from the other side of the door. Nol tells her to go away because he needs her to go away, for his peace of mind, for his crumbling resolve, but on some level, of course he doesn’t want her to. Of course sending her away, pushing her away, walking away from her is difficult, is something he forces himself to do, that is so incredibly difficult for him.

Let’s not forget him at the curb retching after hurting Shinae in all the worst ways and then walking away and leaving her in the freezing rain.

Quimchee literally doesn’t need to spell it out because it’s all right there for us to see. It’s in his closed eyes, in his back against the door he can’t pull himself away from, in his frustration, in his crumbling resolve, in his sheer agony.

Let’s also not forget how this all started. It wasn’t even initially about Dieter - it was about Nol hiding himself away, about him refusing to show the parts of him that she really wants to see, about how it hurts her that he can’t open up. At the heart of this lmao it’s literally about how Shinae just wants to LOVE him and he wants her to understand tHAT SHE DOES.

SCREAMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love this episode it’s so good it’s got me chewing through my freaking keyboard trying to write this AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH LKAJFKJFAKJAFJKAFJKAFJKAFJKAFJ

But, of course, the important take away is that Shinae cannot see the forest for the trees. She’s so caught up in her own intense feelings, lost in her fear and what she wants so badly and she only knows how to fight. Shinae is a bit of a short fuse but it’s even worse because of the harrowing 24 hours she’s been through. To think so many episodes ago she was moving back in to her home with Simhan! It feels so far away after everything that’s transpired! She hasn’t slept, we know she hasn’t really eaten in hours, she’s already in a foul mood after how her dance with Nol soured and how upset she got about what he hides from her. There’s now way for her to be rational - trying to literally kick in his door lmao - or think things through because her despair and frustration is so all-consuming it just clouds her judgement.

There’s something so funny about how Nana takes her away and suddenly settled down, Shinae just goes full sulking lmao. I love how impetuously teenager it is, too, for Nana to tell Shinae that she does, in fact, need to leave, that is isn’t actually the big deal she thinks it is but Shinae is like blah blah OLD PEOPLE WISDOM IS NOT NEEDED HERE alkjfakfjkafjfa lmao

It must be so funny to Nana, that this little spitfire girl is fighting like hell for him, fighting so hard to not be cast out, and can’t understand WHY she’s fighting, what any of it means lmao like aflkjafjkafjkafj

Of course Nana knows. Anyone would be able to tell! From how awkward they were around each other in the room, how sulky Nol was fiddling with her headband (AND THE BLUSHING), the whole argument they’ve had about Dieter - who Nana knows!!!!!!!! Had a crush on her!!!!!!!! Of course she with her decades of life can see exactly what Shinae is fighting.

Taking her away from Nol is important. I LOVE this exchange they have: Nana: You’d need the right key to get that door open. Shinae: And? A key isn’t necessary when you use enough force! Nana: But you could damage the door. And nobody likes an intruder. Breaking doors could get yourself kicked out and never be able to come back. Both literally and figuratively. You wouldn’t want that now would ya?

I’m sure Nana must speak from some kind of experience. Thinking about how she took him in when he left the psychiatric ward where it seems like he was traumatized, from where he still carries so many unhealed wounds and scars, after losing his mother and being left all alone in a foreign country with no family, made to believe he’s some kind of monster like the loss of his mom was his fault, that he deserved everything that came to him. The special name his mom had given him had been worn down and destroyed, tainted and made to mean nothing. He comes home and he doesn’t even go back to his father, to their family, but someone he’s told is his grandma. How can he trust her? His own father doesn’t want him, he’s been sent to live with some stranger, away from his father’s family. An outcast, an outsider, all alone.

She probably tried so hard to get through to him. How do you reach someone like him? How do you get through to someone who keeps everyone at arms’ length, who is so full of fear and self-loathing, who has been made to feel so insignificant, so worthless, a mistake, a monster. We still don’t even know just how bad it was locked inside there. His fear of Yui, his aversion to medication and hospitals, how much he detests tea, his touch aversion. How much of what he believes about himself - that he caused his mother’s death, that he deserves all the bad, that he will only bring harm to those he loves, that his existence is a mistake - came from there? GOD it hurts lmao lajfjkfjkafjk LIKE just writing this makes me want to howl. This is such a foundational aspect of who Nol is. He’s not just some melodramatic teenager (which even isn’t a bad thing) but he has spent a significant portion of his memorable life in survival mood, just fighting to stay afloat, fighting all of the demons who hold him down.

Nana loves him so much, that much is so clear. And she knows him so well. She knows what he needs is time, she knows how stubborn and obstinate he is, and she probably knows all too well how he shuts others out and how, much like quicksand, the harder you fight and struggle, the worse it will be. Her line about breaking doors can get you kicked out is so loaded. Did she try to break his doors, too? Did she try so hard to reach someone who wanted to be so unreachable and found herself on the other side of a door, too? aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh

Just thinking about he was just this scared kid so alone and she believes her daughter took her own life and she didn’t see it coming, didn’t imagine her the person who would do it and it reminded her that you never really know, do you? He was this kid so closed off, so alone, who hid so much, and we’ve seen her reach out to him over and over, encourage him to spend time with people who care about him. I’m sure a part of her worries, fears, that maybe he’d go the same path as his mom. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how he told Dieter he “tried to visit his mom”. That HAUNTS me and I bet it’s something that haunts her, too.

(Alternatively, if he came out with his Yeonggi mask, ready to fake his way through, ready to force a smile a joke a laugh to pretend everything is fine when under the surface she can see it’s not. Remembering how he met Dieter, I think the Yeonggi persona was a thing that grew the more he tried it on, but whether or not she met him as this scared lonely kid or this kid with a fake mask on, we just know she’s been THROUGH it trying to reach him with everything she’s got ;____________;)

Getting to see so much into their relationship makes me feel SO FUCKING FERAL. Knowing that yes, Nol DID talk about Shinae to her, that contrary to what we’ve seen through much of this series, Nol didn’t always close himself away in his room locked up with his thoughts and self-loathing. That he would go home and talk to Nana about people who piqued his interest, tell her about his hare-brained attempts to befriend them, about the struggles he faced in getting through to them. Did she see the fond irony - that someone who once was so hard for her to reach to get through found someone who was just as difficult to get through to and one day he went from talking about how difficult she was to talking about her as his friend? GOD it gets to meeeeeeeeeee. She must’ve seen the shift, too - when she went from being the subject of his attempt to help out Dieter to being his friend, to mattering to him.

I’M IN AGONYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

I wish we could see a little bit of that, of the Nol he was so briefly before he had to put the walls back up, before the self-loathing fully consumed him again, before all the tendrils of shadow wrapped themselves around him and began to drag him back out of the light again. But fortunately what we DO get comes close. That moment earlier when he told Nana about how he’d already seen his friends, how they all came to celebrate his birthday can you believe it? GOD MY HEART ACHES.

I suspect we’ll probably be seeing more of them because clearly someone needs to talk with him - someone rational and removed from the situation, someone who can try to make him see that he cannot help his feelings, that he cannot control all situations, and is any of this really your fault? Is it his fault at all that Shinae didn’t like Dieter enough that way, that it didn’t happen over time? Is it his fault if she instead saw something in him that she flocked to, if there existed something between them that she wants to fight so hard for? AAAAHHHHHHHHHH

Both Nol and Shinae are so stubborn so OBSTINATE and they’re both STRUGGLING so of course it was wise of Nana to take Shinae away, even if she had to trick her lmao. Shinae at Nol’s door only makes it worse, could, as she said, push him to lock her out for real. Nana knows that Shinae hasn’t been cast out, she knows what the problem is, but of course why would Shinae believe her? lol It’s that obstinate teenager thing that makes me laugh so much now that I’m well passed that stage - so certain that no one could possibly understand what you’re feeling, that they couldn’t possibly understand what is wrong lmao

Honestly, Nana and Shinae are nothing like I expected them to be, and I really love that. Nana barely even knows her, but she does know how to poke and wheedle her. Everything feels so poised to help Shinae zero in on the reason behind her frustration.

I really love that she revealed to Shinae that Nol has told her about her, that she has, from the sidelines through a biased lens, watched their relationship grow - and as a result, saw the effect she had on him, what their friendship did t and for him. Even though Nol has told Shinae she’s special, because he’s so hot and cold, because he doesn’t open up, because she doesn’t get to see him, it’s hard for her to really internalize that it’s true. How can it be when he’s so willing to throw away all of this, right? So for Nana to reveal that she knows all about how closed off Shinae used to be but that changed didn’t it is such a MOMENT for her. She doesn’t look like she can believe it - Nol talked about her? About how she fought him and ran away?

More importantly, Nana is trying to give Shinae a little nudge that she can’t yet see. She tells Shinae she’s not trying to make her feel bad about turning down Dieter, but to lay out their foundation: that originally Nol was trying to play Cupid, but the arrows got all messed up. I think it’s one of those things that while right now Shinae thinks it’s just people trying to make her feel guilty, soon she’ll see for what it was - the problem lies in their foundation, the reason Dieter is hurt is because of the way it all went wrong. Soon, Shinae is going to be holding her head in her hands yelling about how did she not see it how was she so blind THAT’S what they meant this is what they all meant?! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I find it really cute that Nana is using the same technique as Nol, trying to get Shinae to think about her feelings. Why do you feel terrible? What did you actually do wrong? How does it make you feel bad? And then LMAO baiting Shinae with a hint about the problem in an disguised effort to kick her out LMAOOOOOOO to be fair, she DOES give Shinae the hint, just..... not the way she wants LMAO

The way Nana gets Shinae reminiscing, thinking back on how their friendship began, how they ended up at this point, just what is so significant about those oranges - the things Shinae doesn’t say about how they symbolize the change from him being this annoying guy that she wanted nothing to do with to this person she CANNOT let go of that she CANNOT lose GOD. That’s SO good. She talks about how she’s so bad at talking about her feelings and opening up and that she’s trying to be better at it - but she also cannot stop talking about Nol lmao

She’s moody about all the things she doesn’t know about him yet. What his real name is, why she’s not allowed to use, how Nana gets to do it why can’t she? Does he hate his name, where did the Yeonggi moniker come from?

“I wanna know where he got it from... There’s so many things I wanna know about him...”

I JUST WANNA GRAB HER BY THE SHOULDERS AND RATTLE HER AROUND lajkfkfjfkafkjafj I love it, okay? it’s one of those tell tale signs - when you grow interested in a person, when you start to like them and you have that insatiable hunger to know them so intimately to know every detail about them you want to know everything about them you want to discover them from inside out. And for her it’s doubly worse since he DOESN’T show her what she wants to see. She’s out here craving to understand him so intimately and can’t understand why he can’t show her that. Why can’t he be vulnerable why can’t he open up?

She is SO HEAD OVER HEELS she is soooooooo full of feelings she wants to know everything he’s hidden GOD!!!!!!!!

HOW ARE THERE PEOPLE WHO DON’T SEE IT? HOW ARE THERE PEOPLE WHO DON’T GET ANY OF THIS?!

She THINKS there’s nothing going on between them but she’s sulking to his grandma, she’s upset because he won’t show her himself because she wanted to see his face because they shared this intimate tender moment because it was such a SOFT warm HAPPY moment for her and they couldn’t share it because they weren’t on the same level

She is MOPING she really thinks he’s casting her out and she’s terrified of losing all of that.

Shinae over here saying that of course all her relationships with her friends are going to be different but she can’t see why this one, in particular, is so dire, doesn’t understand what the everything she thinks he’s throwing away signifies.

GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I really look forward to learning more about Yeonggi, because I’ve been really curious about that, too. Was it a name he’d just picked out, what was the significance? I look forward to Nol telling her about it, too; Nana has told her all she knows and anyway it’s better to let Nol do it. It’s better for Nol to know all of this, to hear all the things Shinae wants to know, how she’s so insatiably hungry to know everything about him, how she just wants to know him - everything there is to him the good the ugly the things he hasn’t shown anyone else ;A; aaaahhhhhhhhhh

Nana is really the PERFECT character to REALLY bring in for this arc. She goes head to head with Shinae lmao and dances circles around her. The whole distracting her as she evacuates her from the building while getting her to dwell on her feelings? PERFECTLY executed. Telling her the hint she’s looking for is that SHE is one of the problems LMAO aklfkafkjafjfjf What’s she supposed to do with that information?!

Of course, like I said earlier, like Nana is telling her, some down time WILL do wonders. Right now her head is so full of intensity, but when she steps away, when she’s mulling and dwelling and sleeps and assuages her crankiness when her brain can go back to functioning well, THEN she’ll be able to think about it, THEN she’ll be able to figure out what the key is. But right now she’s just making things worse - for him, for herself, and for their problem.

Sleep deprivation really messes with you lol especially when she’s spent the most harrowing night of her life. Can you believe that this probably beats out THE KIM FORMAL because this time she NEARLY WATCHED HER BEST FRIEND DIE OUT IN FRONT OF HER?! Christ!!!!!!!!!

And besides Shinae, Nana, and Nol, this episode feels like it’s nudging a couple other things. The pointed emphasis on the hospital departments and floor board feels like a nod that Hansuke will be bringing Kousuke here for his CT scan. On the one hand, I’m really excited to see more about Kousuke and what Hansuke is thinking. I’m no doctor but I assume a CT scan might be able to indicate some kind of drugging just because how it would affect the brain, right? A brain on a particular medication would look a certain way? Forgive me, science was never my strong suit and I don’t know the difference between a CT and other scans lmao but I imagine if it’s the kind of imaging that can indicate neurons firing and active parts of the brain, maybe it would tell them enough that they should try more labwork? Especially now that Hansuke knows about the hormone imbalance and has picked up on Kousuke’s fixation with tea and it being one of the only things he can remember (that he’s admitted).

But on the other hand..... Nol has SO much going on, is he ready to face Kousuke again? Like, don’t get me wrong, I want to see more of them, especially knowing how worried Kousuke is about him, that he hasn’t forgotten what happened last night or that he caused it. But with everything Nol is dealing with - the aftermath of it all, feeling like an asshole for hurting Dieter, Shinae, all of this, is he ready to see Kousuke again? I guess part of me worries that Kousuke is... yknow. More fragile and that if he fights with Nol, it might affect the progress he made? Or maybe now that they had that er... “heart to heart” now that he confessed those sins his fears he would be able to hear Nol out without deflecting?

I just know if Kousuke ends up at the same hospital and he spots anyone from Nol’s circle he’ll try to find him lol he IS worried (and worried for HIM not based on Rand or punishment or any of that). He’s got no idea how Nol is, where he is, what happened, how bad it is. GOD. HARROWING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Everyone is going to be SO HAUNTED by this night.

The other matter is, of course, the custodian taking out the trash when Nana tells them they should go somewhere private, she doesn’t want “him” eavesdropping on the conversation. Initially I’d assumed this is because ultimately she is trying to get Shinae the heck out of there and it’s her excuse to get him out, but it could easily have been written “So no one can eavesdrop” right?

The theory is that this is one of the people that Yui probably pays to act as a spy for her so that she can keep track of people and always knows what they’re doing, so she can always be two steps ahead. The only thing that really gives me pause regarding this, though, is that she has no idea where Nol is (yet). She has no idea where Rand took him, and I can’t imagine she employs people in hospitals all over the city should anyone report anything suspicious to her. So how would this be one of her spies?

I’m not saying it’s not possible at all because he WAS very emphasized, but it just leaves me wondering if Yui doesn’t know where they are, how could that be a spy, right? But look, sometimes the narrative pulls a fast one on us. We can’t see what she’s up to at all times, now can we?

All in all, I really loved this episode and I’ve been loving this arc SO MUCH. All of this everything since the Christmas party has been SO GOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!! Seeing all of those plot lines really converge and the stakes go higher has made every episode a treat to read, but I love that in the midst of this, Shinae and Nol have this very big, important thing to clear up. Over the course 230 episodes we’ve been watching these two grow so important to each other and honestly, I love watching Shinae fight for him like this, even if lmao she’s going at it all the wrong way. For someone like Nol who is so used to being invisible, to have her putting up such a fight, confirming whatever feelings he can’t be sure if she actually feels, would be such a welcome thing - except for the reminder that Dieter has been hurt in the cross-fires. I really want to see Nana have a talk with him and maybe TRY to get him to see it, that you cannot control feelings, that acting on them isn’t bad. That Dieter WILL come around, that he isn’t really much of a friend if he puts his own wants and happiness above Nol’s.

But of course, Nana alone won’t do. Nol REALLY needs to talk to Dieter, too. But unlike Shinae, Dieter seems to know he needs to be alone for a little while. He’s got to sort out his own feeling and untangle that hurt. Thinking about things from his perspective IS painful - Yeonggi cut them out, he blocked their numbers, he refused to see them, and then suddenly he shows back up after asking to be left alone, he almost DIES in front of them, and Dieter wakes up to witness Nol and Shinae having this moment.

He’s got a lot of things to sort out, too, he needs sleep and room to think.

I’m really interested to see how all of it plays out. For Dieter’s sake, I hope there’s some kind of explanation because unlike Shinae, he and Soushi are still in the dark. Why did Nol leave and come back? Why did he box them out? He showed so much affection when he hugged them and told them he loves them so I’m sure they know that he has his reasons but still, people have limits. They deserve to know what Shinae does. I she willing to have that talk, though?

aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh

I imagine we’ll probably be veering back to Kousuke here shortly, if not the next espisode. I imagine Shinae may get picked up before that.... ? Maybe? It feels like we were JUST with Kousuke, but I don’t think we’ll be revisiting Yui JUST yet. Maybe we’ll see Shinae get home, let her thoughts pull her to sleep, and then go visit Kousuke and Hanske? IDK god knows I can never predict what’s coming next but no matter which direction we go, we don’t go wrong!

It’s so funny that the fabled Minhyuk party was something that I thought would happen and then we’d slide slowly into a timelapse taking us through the first time jump to graduation and stuff but SURPRISE: NOL ALMOST DIED, KOUSUKE IS UNDERGOING HELL, NOL’S FREEDOM HAS BEEN EXTENDED, CHRISTMAS IS COMING UP!!!!!!!!! We have literal DAYS left until Nol goes away, and then do we even immediately go into our timelapse timeskip?! Quimchee talked so much about how she didn’t want to have to draw snow, so at least so much of this takes place indoors but LMAO it’s still kinda funny

aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I love this webtoon so much I love this story so much I love this whole arc honestly it’s been hit after hit for me and I’m so glad I get to keep screaming about it every week at all of you and just scale walls and swing from rafters I AM SO HAPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#I Love Yoo #ILY Brainrot #ILY Spoilers #ILY FP #Stalkyoo #Shinae Yoo #Nolan Oliver T. Lochlainn #Nana Lochlain #lmaoooo #Eleanor Lochlain #Kousuke Hirahara #i'm still chewing through the cables yelling about my feelings AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #also while writing this i had SVT - Home TXT - Ghosting MX - Blame Me and #Shownu and Minhyuk's Have a Goodnight on repeat and BOY did they give me the feels wow wow wow #love to just inject more feelings into favorite songs aljfakjfjkafjafjafjkaf #I'm really looking forward to seeing Nol and Nana talk - partly because I just KNOW he's gonna be SO pathetic and I'm gonna eat that UP #partly because I think Nana can get through to him to some degree #if only it's to point out that Shinae clearly cares SO MUCH and he needs to be careful not to push her away lest he be left with only their #memories #also thinking about how nana and hol's relationship must've started out put me SO DEEP IN THE EMOTIONS AND FEELINGS

60 notes · View notes